False Positive (29 page)

The clerk thought it was stupid, coming to an Internet cafe and paying extra for a computer that couldn't go online.

The woman didn't care what the clerk thought. It was the only way to make sure the devious brat she was saddled with couldn't log onto email or IM or Twitter or whatever seven-year-olds used to send messages these days. And she obviously couldn't leave the girl unattended in the car. Not after what the kid had pulled at the hotel.

The extra cost—and the extra time she'd spent getting to the place—proved to be more than worthwhile, however. The woman took the opportunity to relieve one of the raucous teenagers who frequented the place of his iPhone. The computer she rented for herself did, of course, have Web access. And through it, she made one last check on her webcams. A check that had revealed a very nasty surprise waiting at her house.

Devereaux.

How he'd found the place, goodness only knew. Her daughter hadn't been aware of it, and there were no records tying her to the address. Not directly, anyway. And he wouldn't have been able to navigate through the ones that did exist. But that was of no matter.
The key takeaway was something that the woman had discovered at an early age. Something that had become the mantra she'd lived by ever since.

Praemonitus, preamunitus
.

Forewarned is forearmed.

Wednesday. Evening
.

Nicole missing for twenty-eight hours

There was no longer a doubt in Devereaux's mind.

He pulled out his phone, ready to call Hale and have her send in the cavalry. Then something he'd said to Loflin at the hospital the previous night resurfaced in his mind. The woman wasn't an ordinary criminal. Her behavior was beyond Hale's expertise. It was beyond Bruckner's and Grandison's, too. Beyond everyone's.

Except, perhaps, his.

Devereaux canceled Hale's number and called Loflin instead. He asked her for a simple favor. Next he called Page, and asked him for something a little more complicated. Then he put his phone away. He moved to the living room. Sat down on the couch's uncomfortable synthetic-tweed cushions to wait. And welcomed the calm clarity as he felt it start to blossom in his chest.

Devereaux didn't recognize the number that showed up on the screen twenty minutes later, but he answered his phone, anyway.

“Cooper?” The woman sounded confident. “What are you doing in my house?”

“I'm here to collect my daughter.” Devereaux kept his voice soft
and even. “It turns out she doesn't like water parks. Or airplane museums. Or psychopaths.”

“Then she'd better be kept away from you, Cooper dear, as you and I are cut from the same cloth.”

“Are we?”

“You know we are.”

“You'll need to remember that, in a little while.”

“Why?”

“Because we need to talk about what we're going to do. How we can fix things so that my daughter comes home with me, and no one else gets hurt.”

“That's a lofty goal, Cooper. I'm sorry to be the one to disappoint you.”

“Bring my daughter to your house. Unharmed. Let her come home with me. And in return, I'll let you walk away. That's as good an offer as you're going to get tonight.”

“You know that can never happen, Cooper. Because even if I believed what you say, you know I can't let
you
walk away. Not with what's in your bloodstream. It wouldn't be responsible.”

“Then how about a trade? Me for my daughter.”

“You see? We are alike. That's what I was about to suggest.”

“OK, then. How do we make it happen?”

“You found the way to the garage?”

“I did.”

“Good. Go there. Roll up the outer door. No more than six inches. Slide your gun underneath. And any other weapons you have. Then sit on the ground, cross your legs, and put your hands under your butt. Understand?”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Now? That won't work. I need—” Devereaux's phone vibrated and he risked quickly removing it from his ear to check the incoming message. “Actually, scratch that. Of course now will work. I'm on my way. Give me thirty seconds.”

Wednesday. Evening
.

Nicole missing for twenty-eight and a quarter hours

Devereaux ejected the bullets from his gun and dropped them into a Cardinals mug he took from a cupboard on the wall in the kitchen. He moved his switchblade to his back pocket. Then he went to the garage. Found the door opener. Cranked it up two inches. Shoved his gun out. And remained on his feet.

Ten seconds later Devereaux heard a car door slam. Then footsteps, and the scrape of metal on asphalt as someone picked up his gun. After another twenty seconds there was a second slam. Then the garage door started to roll up the rest of the way. Devereaux instinctively moved to the side and ducked down to see what was happening outside.

The Mercedes was parked sideways on the driveway, blocking the view of anyone passing by on the street. The woman was standing next to its passenger door. Nicole was with her, wrapped in a bulky, brightly colored beach towel. The woman's hands were gripping Nicole's shoulders while tears poured down the little girl's face.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” Devereaux took a step forward, then stopped dead. The woman had pulled away the towel, letting it fall to the ground. He could see that Nicole was clutching a well-loved cuddly rabbit under one arm. She was wearing a blue pinafore
dress. And over it, an old-fashioned life preserver. It was made of tan leather, laced up in front, with a series of vertical cylindrical pockets, which would originally have held the floatation aids. Only now the pockets were linked together with a sheaf of red, white, and blue wires. The red wire extended to the side and connected to a switch that the woman held in her left hand.

“It seems that neither of us was specific enough with our terms, Cooper. I didn't stipulate that the bullets should still be in your gun. And you didn't stipulate that your daughter should still be in one piece.”

“You're right.” Devereaux focused on the woman's left hand. “We were both remiss. Maybe we should start the negotiation over. How about this: my daughter, alive and unharmed, in exchange for your daughter in the same condition.”

“Nice try. But my daughter isn't here. And she isn't in danger.”

“She's not far from here. And she's in mortal danger.”

“She's in the hospital. In Birmingham, Alabama. And she's completely safe.”

“She was. Until I signed her out on my way up here.”

“You didn't sign her out. She's still in the hospital, tucked up in bed, fast asleep.”

“I need to show you something now. Jan would want you to see it. It's on my phone. I'm going to reach into my pocket and take it out, so don't get twitchy with that panic button, OK?”

Devereaux retrieved his phone, pulled up a photograph, then handed it to the woman.

“Oh my God! What have you done?”

“As you can see, your daughter's buried up to her neck in sand. The mask she's wearing is a professional diver's model, which guarantees an absolutely airtight seal around the face. It's connected to an oxygen tank with, let's see…” Devereaux made a show of looking at his watch. “…thirty-four minutes' supply. That's a little less than planned, because you took longer to get here than I'd expected.”

“Where is she?”

“That's the interesting part. She's thirty minutes' drive from here. That means if you got going right away, you'd have a little less than four minutes left to remove the mask before she suffocates. If you
knew where to go. Which you don't. I'm the only one who does. But I'll be happy to tell you. Just as soon as you put down that switch and let my daughter go.”

“You wouldn't leave Jan to suffocate! That's inhumane. You're bluffing.”

Devereaux stepped forward until he was directly in front of the woman.

“Who's my father, Madison?” He stared her straight in the eye. “If you were right about all those kids—if it was necessary to
save
them the way you did—then I'll absolutely leave your daughter to suffocate. I'll do it in a heartbeat. And you know I will.”

The woman stepped away. Her back pressed against the Mercedes. But she didn't release the switch.

“Think about it.” Devereaux spread his arms out wide. “You know all about me. You know all about my father. Can you see any scenario where you kill my daughter and I let yours live?”

The woman dropped the switch. Devereaux took Nicole's hand and started to slowly lead her toward the garage. They'd backed three feet away. Six. Then the woman flung herself forward, trying to retrieve the dangling red wire. Devereaux picked the girl up and spun her to the side. He kicked the woman as he turned, catching her in the shoulder and knocking her down. The woman stood straight back up and sprang at Devereaux, scratching and clawing at his face. He tried to fend her off with one hand but she was too wild. He had to put the girl down. The woman jumped on his back as he leaned forward. He straightened, spinning and slamming her into the side of the Mercedes. Her head cracked against its side window, starring the glass, and she slid to the ground, finally still, blood flowing freely from the back of her scalp.

Devereaux turned, his eyes searching for his daughter. She was ten feet away. Her fingers were tugging at the laces securing the bomb vest. She almost had them undone. The vest was starting to slip from one shoulder.

“No!” Devereaux threw himself at the girl, desperate to stop her.

He was too late.

He landed at her feet, right as the vest hit the ground.

Wednesday. Evening
.

Nothing happened.

Devereaux struggled to his knees and gingerly picked up the vest. Something was wrong. The wires were real. So was the switch. But the material in the pockets? It wasn't any kind of explosive Devereaux had come across before. He sniffed it, and realized what it was.

Play-Doh. The vest was a fake. It wasn't dangerous at all.

Devereaux hugged his daughter. Thoughts and emotions were flooding over him in an irresistible tide, but out of the deluge one name kept screaming to him.
Brian. Brian! BRIAN!

Who the hell was Brian?

No.
What
the hell was Brian?

There, on the floor, six feet away, lay the cuddly rabbit Nicole had been carrying. Devereaux raced across to it. He picked it up. Ran out of the garage. Flung it high over the roof of the Mercedes. And was knocked flat on his back when the C-4 packed inside it detonated.

Thursday. Late Morning
.

Everything's broken. Everything's falling down. Falling on me…

The man lifts the boards. He finds me. Reaches down. Grabs me. He's going for my neck. He's going to strangle me with something
.

Another man comes. He has a long, narrow board. He puts it down, next to me. They roll me on my side. Slide the board under me. Tie me to it. Fix a mask over my face. Lift me up. Hold me high between them. The mask is scratching my face
.

They carry me to a truck. Put me inside. Close me in. I start to fight. I must get out. But I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't see…

“Daddy?”

It was a girl's voice. She was nearby.

“Daddy?”

What did she want? Who was she talking to?

“Nicole? Listen to me, sweetheart.”

It was a woman's voice now. Alexandra Cunningham's.

“Your daddy? He's OK. He's not awake enough to talk to you right now. But he will be. Very soon. Then you can come back and visit with him whenever you like.”

One Week Later

The sign on the billboard by the side of the road had been changed while Devereaux was cooped up in the hospital. There were no more angels on it when he came out. Or devils. Or pictures of any kind. The sponsors had changed their approach. Now they were just using giant blocks of text:

LIFE IS SHORT. ETERNITY IS NOT
.

The owner of the food truck had followed suit. He'd dispensed with his illustrations, too, and had responded with a few words of his own:

LUNCH BREAK IS SHORT. OUR CHICKEN IS HOT
.

Loflin had arrived at the pull-off before Devereaux. She was standing next to the hood of her Subaru when he got there, at exactly the time they'd agreed to meet. Two portions of the truck's signature chicken were set out in front of her, ready for them to eat.

“This place is OK, I guess.” Devereaux took a tentative bite, still not fully forgiving the lack of pork or beef. “But I do like the idea of solving the serious issues in life by eating 'cue.”

“That's easy to do, when the menu only gives you one option.” Loflin smiled, then broke off to chew.

“Maybe the owner believes in destiny.” Devereaux caught a trickle of stray sauce with a napkin. “Like Hindus, or whoever. Or your mother.”

“Maybe.”

They ate in silence for the next few minutes.

“How did it go this morning?” Devereaux looked at Loflin out of the corner of his eye.

It had been her mother's funeral that morning. Loflin had come to the chicken truck directly from the service. She still had on her black dress, which was starting to cling in the afternoon sun, and she was self-conscious about the piece of hiking sock she'd used to disguise the electronic ankle bracelet she was forced to wear.

“As well as you'd expect.” Loflin dropped a bone onto her plate. “No one came. It was just the minister and me. But look on the bright side. I've finally found a benefit to having a psychopath for a mother. I didn't have to spring for a giant wake.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't be there.”

“Don't be. It would have been weird. It's better for me to draw a line on my own. Now I can move on.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. A lot depends on how the trial works out, I guess. My lawyer's optimistic, and he seems to know his stuff. Say thanks to Alexandra for hooking me up with him, by the way.”

“Will do.”

“If I'm not locked up, I was thinking about taking a trip. Around Europe, maybe. I need some distance. My mother's gone, but she's not
gone
. Do you know what I mean? She was a constant voice in my head, controlling what I thought and what I did for so, so long. For all my life, really Manipulating me. Keeping me off balance with psychological tricks. Now I need to learn how to be myself. How to make my own decisions. To figure out what I like. What I want. Who I am. I think I need to stay well away from here until I don't feel like her hand's always on the wheel, you know?”

“Do you think that's possible? Can you escape something like that?”

“Cooper, are you testing me? Of course you can escape. Look at
you. You're nothing like your father was. Ethan wouldn't be alive if you were. Nicole wouldn't be. And look at me. Last time we passed this place, I was ready to help get you killed. But I didn't. I left it late, admittedly, but I chose my own path in the end. Everyone does. Or can. Destiny's not set, like my mother said it is. We're all free to make up our own.”